pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the harvest. The man

fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a

bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood.

"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet. "He has thieves' heels; he

can run, by St Banbury! But you touched him, Master Shelton; he has

stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!"

"Nay, but what made he by the church?" asked Sir Oliver. "I am shrewdly

afeared there has been mischief here. Clipsby, good fellow, get ye down

from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews."

Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a paper.

"This writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the

parson. "I found naught else, sir parson."

"Now, by the power of Mother Church," cried Sir Oliver, "but this runs

hard on sacrilege! For the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the

manor--well! But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should

fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard;

and men have burned for matters of less weight. But what have we here?

The light falls apace. Good Master Richard, y' have young eyes. Read

me, I pray, this libel."

Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. It contained

some lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a

The Black Arrow